


Bang

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keenser admires his working partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bang

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Shore leave, Keenser thought, is supposed to be synonymous with vacation. Evidently, his Universal Translator needs some adjusting.

Because the rest of the crew gets to tour the grand cities of Vulcan, Captain Kirk and Commander Spock get to visit the home of Ambassador Sarek, Lieutenant Uhura gets a first-class shuttle to the Earth Embassy... and Montgomery and Keenser get to slave away in an alien shipyard under the relentless, blistering sun. 

Montgomery lasted about two hours. He loves machines more than anything else in this universe—Keenser knows him well enough to know that—but he’s human, and the way his skin flushed and beaded thickly with sweat had Keenser more than worried. Now, Montgomery’s tinkering with smaller tools in the back of a work shed, pouring over all the latest advancements that have yet to leave Vulcan’s surface. Knowing how advanced the technology on Vulcan is, Montgomery probably requested they come here on purpose. 

Keenser’s harder skin protects him somewhat from the harsh rays, but he still wouldn’t mind a nice lounge along the Voroth Sea or a cool hotel room. He’s asked, “Are you done with that antigrav handle?” And Keenser’s tugged out of his own brooding long enough to pass the tool over. The man beside him—his new work partner—takes it gingerly.

Stonn is no _Montgomery Scott_ , but he’s not without his perks. He seems more than adept in starship engineering, and between the two of them, this shuttle should be ready for flight in two hours or less. Stonn works more efficiently than Montgomery with less of the fervent commentary, and though his methods are more conventional in an engineering sense, his appearance and body language and sweet aroma are entirely _alien_ to a Roylan like Keenser, still learning to adjust to _humans_.

He’s seen Vulcan’s before, of course. There are a few on the ship, most notably Commander Spock, but none of them are quite like _Stonn._ They always wear those bulky uniforms and are stiff with their hands and frown too much. 

...Stonn’s wearing a skintight, dark jumpsuit that perfectly hugs his lean, tall frame, highlighting all the right places. The sun shines along it and seems to reflect off the more round, pulled-smooth areas: the arc of his spine, the tautness of his pecs, the curve of his ass. When he bends to insert himself inside an open panel, the thin material’s stretched even tighter, and he might as well be naked, exposed in the bright light of day. Keenser wonders vaguely what he’d look like _in underclothes and the darkness of night_ , then moves on to ogle other things. 

Stonn is fluid with his hands. Incredibly skilled, precise, graceful and serene. His fingers play across the circuitry in a sensuous dance, one that pushes all Keenser’s buttons—Stonn’s fingers are so very _long_ and _trim_ and _dexterous_ ; they can coax any machine to attention; what would they be like on other things? The way Stonn strokes along a wire to find the end is entirely too sensual, and Keenser doesn’t manage to stop the gravel growling noise that escapes his throat in time. 

Stonn looks sharply over at him, eyes alight and face neutral, intelligent, not _frowning_ but _timeless_. Keenser’s thoughts don’t even make sense anymore. His mind spirals down into a pit of dreams; finishing this shuttle and throwing Stonn into it, ripping away his clothes and unleashing the Roylan version of _pon farr_. Keenser knows when other species go through heat; he can tell it in their makeup itself. He looks at Stonn and he _knows_ that Stonn is a year and a half away, but Keenser’s could roll up in the next few minutes, or at least, in his daydreams. Stonn would understand, of course, and indulge, because Keenser would be happy to return in that year and a half and witness the exotic Vulcan beauty stretched out along the metal floor, legs spread and face flushed and lips wet and pleading. For now, in his own fever, Keenser would mount that beautiful beast of a man and cover his skin in little, harsh bites, while clasping his own bulky fingers around Stonn’s frail wrists like manacles. He’d bring Stonn’s hands to his cock and press those warm palms against his pulsing member, wrap Stonn’s sinful fingers around his length and force them to pump back and forth, and Stonn is a smart thing; when Keenser’s hands left, he’d know what to do. He’d pleasure Keenser with such remarkable talent that Keenser would never be able to have anyone else. He’d hump Stonn’s perfect hands and grunt and groan and thrust his rock-hard body into Stonn’s soft, beautiful frame—

“Have I displeased you in some way?” Stonn asks evenly, and Keenser’s beady eyes snap back to attention from where they were lolling aside. 

He tilts his head to display his confusion. He doesn’t talk when he doesn’t have to, because the Roylan language isn’t perfected yet in the translator database, and he finds it doesn’t always correctly interpret his intentions. 

Stonn pulls out of the open panel and uses one hand to flatten his already perfect bangs, now _obscenely_ perfect. His pointed ears are one of the few distinguishing features that set him apart from humans, though Keenser’s told their eyebrows and skin pigment tend to differ too, though Keenser doesn’t understand ‘colour’ and he doesn’t see the eyebrow difference; most of them all look the same to him. There’s something about _Stonn_ , though, that stands out to him, like a bright, glittering dilithium crystal. 

Stonn explains, “You were growling at me. While I am not fully versed in your species’ linguistic meanings, in many species, a similar noise would denote some form of displeasure.”

Keenser’s eyes rattle. He’s not sure how to explain without disrespecting Stonn that he was simply fantasizing about initiating an ancient mating ritual involving copious amounts of merciless fucking. Keenser takes a moment to grunt, “You please me.” And then he fantasizes about that being an order—about barking it to a kneeling, naked Stonn eager to crawl up to his master and jerk off Keenser’s massive cock. Then he’d come all Stonn’s pretty face, encasing the Vulcan in a healthy few litres of his seed—

“That is good. I find your work admirable.” Then Stonn turns back to his work and sticks his body back into the panel, disappearing past his shoulders, like the exchange and accompanying compliment never happened.

Keenser should really get back to his own panel.

Instead, he stares at the slope of Stonn’s behind and wonders if it could really hold up under a Roylan mating ritual involving numerous restraints and the full brunt of Keenser’s cock and several days of nothing but sex. Vulcans are supposed to be durable. Stonn seems like a healthy young male. He could probably survive. 

Something about the way his ass sways slightly with the movement of his work tells Keenser he might like it, too. Keenser bends down to his panel and poses, ready to look like he’s working should Stonn look back, and spends the rest of the time ogling his impressive eye candy.


End file.
